time slips by like sand in an hour glass
by hope for eternity
Summary: 'He taps his pencil against his page, and wonders how he got to this point.' *ANGST* DIKY-universe. Now a collection of Cooper family one-shots, including a reupload of 'broken glass!
1. time slips by

**A/N Happy [belated...] birthday to my amazing sister, MusicChannySkyscraper! I love you Amy :)**

**I hope everyone enjoys this little sneak into Chad Dylan Cooper's mind. It's set in DIKY, or what I like to call the DIKY-verse :) **

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Chad Dylan Cooper couldn't concentrate.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He's worried, naturally. He is under... a _lot_... of pressure. He can feel the bruises throbbing against his skin, a persistent thump that was in perfect time with his heartbeat. The stinging pain of blood being sent past the sensitive spots. He can't help but feel there were rather a lot of them.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The clock is ticking. He taps his pencil against his page, and wonders how he got to this point. The seconds passing is marked by the patient ticking of the clock on the wall, and it, too, seems to be in harmony with his heartbeat. His hurt.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

It's driving him insane, to be honest. But the small part of his mind that's losing it is pushed far to the back of his head. He does, after all, have more important things to worry about.

Like his mother.

Like his step-dad. (the deadbeat asshole that was punching him around. _yeah him_)

Like his sisters.

Chad Dylan Cooper ponders his family situation. His sisters, his girls, they don't know why their brother doesn't like to play wrestle with them anymore, but seems to need to know where they are, what they're doing... how their feeling...

He wants to protect them.

He _needs_ to protect them.

His mind refuses, _refuses_, to accept the concept that _maybethiswasamistake_. He had taken his family and _ran_, and it couldn't _couldn't_ be what had landed them right in more danger. Running was the good choice, the right choice, and he'd be damned before he gave his girls any reason to believe otherwise. He needed to protect them. He hadn't ruined them, destroyed everything they had, _he hadn't._

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

In his mind, his fragile, broken mind, he tries to comprehend it. Comprehend the fact that he'd run straight from one monster (_daddy? he whispers. you're no son of mine...) _and into the arms of another. _(aha, I have you now, you ungrateful little boy...)_

The hits, they come from everywhere. Someone can fall and he _is not allowed to help them_, because he is CHAD DYLAN COOPER, for flip sake, he _doesn't help people._

Chad Dylan Cooper misses Chad Goldfarb. It was easy, being Chad Goldfarb. There was so much love there.

He wonders if his girls are safe, and he's pretty sure they are, because last night he was b-b-beaten, and at some vague point he couldn't quite identify, b-b-beatings had come to mean {safety} for his girls. His big sister had disdainfully told him Hollywood was making him go _soft_ as she tried to figure out how to mend his split lip the night before but he knew that was her way of asking _are you all right sweetie?_ because their mother hadn't.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

There is another name, a name that sends him into agony, so much so that it feels like its being carried around his body along with his blood, fuelled by every beat of his heart.

_Sonny. Sonny. Sonny._

He loves her. Gosh, he loves her. He misses her, and _man_, maybe it hurts even more than the b-b-beatings, but he can stand it, _just_. He sees her when he dreams after all, and whether this is a good thing or a sign of some sort of mental freakin' disorder, he doesn't know.

[Nor does he care. It's nice to see her, and it feels like maybe maybe she's safe and _maybe maybe_ she's dreaming about him too.]

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Worry. Heavy worry. Who gave a damn about class? He had to keep worrying, because if he stopped worrying (read: hurting) then surely the b-b-beatings would lose their magic and their _safety _(read: fake heaven, real hell) would disappear, and all hell would break loose, because they _wouldn't be safe anymore_ and that was all Chad_ ._

_Hayley. Esme. Vanessa. _

He doesn't wonder about his father, his _biological_ father. _(ha! father? he thinks that word with such. disdain.)_because as _far as he is concerned_ that man is dead. He is fatherless.

He can fill those shoes, he always thinks, time after time of rocking his sister _(whichever one, take your pick)_ to sleep after a nightmare. After a nightmare caused by his father, now fondly otherwise known as _the sperm donor_ between he and his older sister.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

.

Chad Dylan Cooper is lost. Chad Dylan Cooper hates his life.

But Chad Dylan Cooper carries on.

Time is slipping on, but it doesn't really matter, nothing really matters but one thing.

Because its his girls that matter right?

_As long as they're safe he keepkeeps breathing on and on and on_

Pain doesn't matter.

They do.

_He wonders if anyone remembers its his fifteenth birthday..._

**A/N Reviews will make sure Chad's birthday is remembered, and possibly pay for the therapy the poor boy probably now needs ;)**

**Hannah xo**


	2. broken glass

**A/N Chanessa! Vanessa, the Chad's only older sister, would not ever be babied. She'll do the babying, thank you very much. Even if she'll never admit it.**

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><p>Vanessa Goldfarb was hated her stepfather. She hated him so, so much.<p>

She hated how he'd never lay a hand on her.

She hated how he'd hurt her brother instead.

_Why, oh, what did he do? _she cries. It's all that she can do as through the nights after she'd done holding ice packs to his precious face and soothed away yet _another_ shaking nightmare.

He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't. She wants to bring that _son of a bitch_ to justice, but she'd promised him, she'd promised her little brother that she wouldn't.

She'd promised him. She'd sealed his sentence and he was so so _hurt_ and it was _killing_ her _every day._

She wanted to pick him up and cradle him in her arms and kiss away his tears just like she'd done when he was two years old and crying over a boo boo. She wishes he were still that small so she could protect him from the world, the world that is killing him _piece by piece_.

It's almost selfish, in a way. She wants his pain to stop, because his pain is causing _her_ pain, pain so strong and sharp that it's _crippling_.

_He's just a boy! Just a little boy_! She wanted to scream as she heard her brother's every shriek of pain, every gasp as he tried to stop himself from sobbing, from showing weakness in front of that- that- that _monster_ who possessively held him and _beat_ him.

She's learned things she'd never felt the need to know. How to bandage a cut. How to treat a bruise. CPR, because she swore to _God_, she was terrified and certain that one day she'd need to use it.

Sometimes she checked on him at night, to see if he was still there.

Sometimes he wasn't.

She kept all this- all this _tenderness_ locked away, though, because goodness only knows, older sisters don't _show_ affection for little brothers. Not in words, anyway. She preferred to insult him as she worked on whatever injuries he had, then check on him when he was asleep- something, actually, she rarely caught him at. Dratted insomniac.

And she knew by the insults he threw at her he thought along the same lines, because he'd called her a lot worse than any annoyed oompa-loompa girl ever had yet if anyone even looked at her the wrong way they'd find his fist flying towards their face.

She loved him so incredibly much.

She'd say it sometimes, too. A soft whisper in his ear, a little acceptance as their stepfather came crashing through the door yelling and reeking of booze and possibly weed, while their oblivious 'I'm-so-in-love-yay' mother slept in her pretty white room, unaware of the horror going on in her own home. It had taken so long for her to be happy. As much as she and Chad resented her obliviousness, they didn't have the heart to break it. Vanessa walked on broken glass in her own home to avoid revealing what, really, was hidden in plain sight. She just prayed that Hayley and Esme could continue to be oblivious too. Their innocence gave her a reason to smile each day.

She wished she had been chosen, not her brother. Because he was fragile and she could see his iron-hard strength weakening under heavy blows, and soon it shattered, it _shattered_. He was left with nothing but his determination to hold on.

It broke her heart to look at him.

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><p><strong>AN and yet, its the angst monster that takes over. You know, this was supposed to a sweet, fun one-shot about sibling love? Haha, that didn't happen.**

**Urgh.**

**Reviews? :)**

**Hannah xo**


	3. the vegas fallout

**A/N Missing scene from DIKY. How did Chad react to having been drunk and disorderly? It's rather angsty. This little idea wouldn't leave me alone; I hope you like it!**

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><p>The second he wakes up, memories from the previous night come flooding into the forefront of his mind, sweeping along on the fringe of the most vicious headache he's had in a long time. It feels like he's gone three long rounds with Charles and Joe, at the same time.<p>

His mouth feels like someone stuffed a dirty rag in it while he was sleeping; his tongue feels fuzzy. He runs it over his teeth, then breathes out on his hand. He chokes when he smells it; the all-too recognisable scent of alcohol. Shame and disgust rush through him, each emotion battling for dominance and so painfully adding to the pounding in his head. Flashes of memory mix before his eyes; dancing, pressed close to a warm body, drinking, French kisses, more dancing. More drinking.

He can't suppress a shiver of guilty pleasure as the memories of tongue and kisses and dancing linger in the forefront of his mind. He's horrified at the feeling, knowing exactly _who_ he was dancing with and knowing she would not appreciate the thought of him leering at her. There are many things Sonny Munroe needs from him, but romantic and slightly perverted thoughts aren't among them.

He's slow to move to the bathroom; his head feels like a ten stone weight, and his neck protests at holding it up, while his muscles scream at the movement. He doesn't want to look in the mirror but he can't help himself. Once he meets his own eyes in his reflection, he feels his stomach start to churn with nausea. Never in his life has he more resembled his father; now memories of those last, haunted days with his whole family in the house replace those from the night before. There's stubble on his chin and midnight-dark rings under his eyes; his hair is dishevelled and sticking up at odd angles. In the very back of his mind, a voice screams, hurling abuse at his mother, him, his sisters, the world. It's his fathers voice because his mind is matching _this _face, _his own_ reflection with those memories. It's when he realises this that he loses the fight against his stomach- he drops like a stone to his knees, retching uncontrollably. He keeps going even when his stomach is empty, when nothing comes up but stomach acid which burns his throat and his mouth, and then just painful dry heaves.

He is truly his father's son. He's never felt more sickened in his life.

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><p>Later, the phone will ring, when his headache is clear, and his sister will scream at him and scream at him and he'll understand why. Not just because he did something stupid; in drinking and then putting his tongue down his best friend's throat (which in itself, was rather despicable) but most of all, because suddenly the firm distinction between father and son has been lost, and she can feel the similarities to their parents divorce every bit as firmly as he can, if not more so.<p>

As he eventually breaks down, his voice rasping and his sobs choking, she at least seems to snap out of it. She stops shouting to coo reassurances to him; _"You're not him, Chad, you're nothing like _him_. You made a mistake, baby brother that's all, just a stupid mistake..."_

But it doesn't help, because as he curls into a miserable ball, wrapped so tightly around himself he's nearly losing feeling, he can remember so, _so _clearly, his father begging, screaming for forgiveness, and trying to justify his affair, and now all he can hear is that voice screaming _"It was a mistake, Julia, a mistake! I'm sorry, I made a mistake."_

And the word _mistake_ repeats itself in his head, over and over again, changing pitch and volume; from a loud, inescapable roar to a static-y whisper slipping through the cracks in his head, _mistake, MISTAKE, mistakemistakemistake __MISTAKE __**MISTAKE.**_

**__**All the apologies in the world couldn't fix his family after that night.


End file.
